


the house of strays: after the end of the world - preview

by autistic_nightfury



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Just you wait - Freeform, Post-Apocalypse, Preview, but i want to gauge interest, coming soon (hah), not really - Freeform, shit y'all this will b very heavy, this will get fleshed out
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-11
Updated: 2019-05-11
Packaged: 2020-03-01 04:32:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18793066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/autistic_nightfury/pseuds/autistic_nightfury
Summary: “What do you want me to do sir?” The whispered question shocked him for a moment, but the familiar phrase made him take another look. Their pants were black and shiny - probably latex from the way they squeaked - and impossibly tight. The white shirt hung loose, tucked in at the waist. There were piercings adorning the person’s nipples, and their ears. There was bruising on their chest, fading but still present, so much that Chan wasn’t sure where to touch without hurting them.He sighed, feeling the heaviness settling into his chest.ETA: I DO NOT CONSENT FOR MY WORKS TO BE TAKEN FROM AO3 AND UPLOADED TO ANY OTHER APPS/SITES





	the house of strays: after the end of the world - preview

He didn’t like being woken up in the middle of the night from hearing someone try to pick the lock to his house. He didn’t like being woken up in the middle of the night period, but especially not when someone was trying to break into his house. He sighed, getting up with a heavy grunt. His hand found the shotgun next to the door, a motion so effortlessly natural he didn’t have to look. He padded quietly to the kitchen, attentive to any signs that his burglar had gotten past all of the locks. He recognised the faint whining noise that the second lock always made when you tried to turn it.

Soon the third lock was done too, and Chan had to admit that he was impressed. He had delibaretely chosen to make the three locks dependent on each other, having to be opened in a certain order and rythm to not get completely stuck. Whoever they were, his burglar seemed to be skilled.

He decided to let them in, silently moving the chain out of its lock; it would be easier to defend himself in the familiar space of his kitchen. The door creaked when it opened, and his burglar froze, and seemed to listen for any noises that could signal danger. When nothing sounded they let out a small breath and slowly pushed it open more.

“Get in.” Chan’s voice was ice cold, his words hard like rock. The burglar stiffened, and stepped into the house. “Close the door.” They reached out with a shaking hand, obeying immediately. “Take out all your weapons.”

“I-I’m un-unarmed I sw-swear-”

“Hm sure, and I’m the queen of England. Drop everything, now.” They cowered at his words, a small whimper escaping from their lips.

“I’m sorry, I p-promise-” Chan scoffed, abruptly pushing them against the closed door, the muzzle of his shotgun against their jaw.

“Do I have to do everything myself?” He muttered under his breath, and reached out with his foot to step on the light switch. It flickered, like it always did, but then it flooded the kitchen, finally revealing his burglar.

Oval, pale face. Dark brown, monolid eyes, glistening with tears. Pouty mouth, a small silver stud resting underneath their lower lip. Their eyebrows, straight and plucked into perfection, were furrowed together in fear. Smeared makeup, black eyeliner smudged around their eyes.

He moved his hand and gaze down, letting both linger on the frail white shirt. He realised they weren’t wearing shoes, feet bleeding and muddy. He started unbuttoning the shirt with one hand, but stopped when he glanced up at the tear stained face in front of him. Their eyes looked empty, staring straight through Chan, a broken plastic smile plastered on.

“What do you want me to do sir?” The whispered question shocked him for a moment, but the familiar phrase made him take another look. Their pants were black and shiny - probably latex from the way they squeaked - and impossibly tight. The white shirt hung loose, tucked in at the waist. There were piercings adorning the person’s nipples, and their ears. There was bruising on their chest, fading but still present, so much that Chan wasn’t sure where to touch without hurting them.

He sighed, feeling the heaviness settling into his chest.

“Hey, buddy, you’re not at work.” Something in their empty gaze shifted, like they were pulling themselves out of the deepest parts of their mind. Apologies started flowing out of their mouth at the same time as their tears, but Chan didn’t listen. He put the shotgun down after a moment of hesitation, and then lead the rambling sex worker into his bathroom, where he sat them down on the bench.

He had done this before; taken in people, broken, vulnerable people, nursed them back to health. His house had become known as the House of Strays, always open for people in need. This was just another tough night. 

**Author's Note:**

> this started out as a fanfic, and then i felt ashamed for writing rpf so i made oc's, but now i have no shame and i'm gonna fix this shit up!!! 
> 
> i'm publishing this to kinda gauge interest! to see what ppl think of it, and what ppl are expecting from this lil snippet. please comment and tell me!


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